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"The last man standing tall that year went home and put his head in the stove, and his wife in the other room just screamed to let him know that he was not alone. "It's alright!....I know what you are and I know there's no way to talk you out, and I'll tell them that you tripped and fell and I'll let them harbor their doubts." His kids all stayed in bed with duct tape thoughts, said their prayers to the ceiling fans and stared at all the shadows left on the wall from the shining limbs he left in the sand. No one got in the way as he burned against the barnyard red of a happy home amidst brilliant times and no one called the helpless card because everyone lives a lie. Everyone loves a lie. They know what's been done. They know the way the words get mixed and the actions find a way to wrap themselves around the seemingly solid frames of modern hope and modern sight. It's not just passion....nor unending will. No, if it was just that, then every sad pair of eyes would be able to get out of bed and make it through the front door. There is more, and I know you drink from the same well, and that you shared the similar mirage on cue that somewhere slaughter and rescue moonlight 'cross land and sea as one in the same. . They come by way of spite. They come by way of brilliant disgust with rage tattooed deep into the palms. They come by way of blackened city lights and by trails of sonic bliss. This a not a warning. Warnings give the false hope of finding sudden shelters to crawl behind. This is the darkened life of four, without an absolute in sight. The Secret come by way of filth and promise. That, my friends, makes them a danger....the kind that you rarely have an opportunity to run into head on. The only difference is The Secret won't stop until they've run straight through each and every one of you. This is the darkened last will of four with distortion brought to life." -Ryan J McKenney